


A Dog Fit for Sherlock Holmes

by FluffySherlollyFan119



Series: Baker Street Confections [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Betting, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Sherlock Holmes gets a dog, i think, there's a mention of a severed finger but nothing else that might trigger anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9004003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffySherlollyFan119/pseuds/FluffySherlollyFan119
Summary: Sherlock Holmes gets a dog. But no one knows what kind. Until they do. Fluffy and Short ;)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MetricJenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetricJenn/gifts).



> So my wonderful beta MetricJenn was born on Christmas Eve, and since she's so awesome I decided to write her this as a birthday/Christmas present. I hope you like it.

When the rumour started at New Scotland Yard that Sherlock Holmes had gotten a dog, everyone immediately started betting that it was Molly who’d convinced him to get a pet. Lestrade, of course, was the one assigned with finding out, from Molly (because everyone knew she was the truthful one) whether or not it was true and who had convinced whom. 

“Oh yes, it’s definitely true. We’ve got a new little one in the family and no it was Sherlock who convinced me. I’m more of a cat person if I’m being honest. Not that there’s anything wrong with dogs. They’re absolutely adorable. But Sherlock had one when he was a kid and when we talked about getting another pet, he kind of put his foot down.” Molly explained to Lestrade during one of his usual solo visits to the morgue to check on a report. 

The next poll started at the Yard was on the dog’s breed. 

Anderson bet that Sherlock had gotten a Wolfhound, because according to him they had a similar hairstyle and Sherlock was vain enough to do something like that. 

Sally bet that he’d gotten a blond Labrador which he’d named John because Watson refused to go on certain cases with him anymore. This wasn’t really the case so much as since John had taken a job as a consultant at the hospital he couldn’t waltz out of work whenever his best friend needed the company while solving a case. 

Lestrade’s wager was on an English Bull Mastiff because frankly he couldn’t think of a more Sherlock-like dog. When he told John this, the doctor agreed, though he couldn’t tell the DI whether he was right or wrong since he hadn’t seen the dog yet and Sherlock had only mentioned it in passing. Lestrade figured since John was technically a part of NSY then he could get in on the new poll. 

John’s choice finally came down to a bloodhound since he’d described Sherlock as one in one of his earliest blogs and it quickly became one of the more popular votes among the lower ranks at the Yard. 

Mary managed to get in on the action and placed a bet on the breed being a German Short-haired Pointer because that particular type of breed was good at tracking things down. 

It wasn’t long before the doctors at St Bart’s that frequently helped with various cases of NSY’s heard about the poll and were allowed to join. 

Meena thought that Sherlock would certainly go for a Rottweiler because, as she put it, they both had the same balance of bark and bite but she could see Molly being able to calm them both down with her cooking. 

Caroline bet on a Siberian Husky, because Molly would never let him get away with anything that wasn’t at least 75% fluff and cuddles but they were equally as majestic, and Sherlock’s pretentiousness could be confused for majesty. 

The bets kept getting more and more outrages with each person being brought in on the poll. Of course, Molly kept her mouth shut and simply enjoyed all the creative theories surrounding the bets. Dalmatian was her current favourite suggestion of what dog they should have gotten. 

Of course Sherlock knew about the bets and was trying his hardest to keep people from finding out what dog breed he’d actually bought, on Molly’s insistence of course. He smiled to himself as he looked down at his pet snoring on the carpet in front of the fireplace at 221B. He still couldn’t believe how ridiculous he thought the breed was when he’d first heard about them. The name he’d chosen made him seem even more ridiculous and he knew it would be the next thing people might start betting on once they’d found out the breed. He doubted anyone would ever get it right, though. 

The day John found out was one he would never forget. Molly had called him the day before and wondered if he could come over to pull Sherlock out of his latest no-case strop. He was turning the corner onto 221B when he saw Sherlock with leash in hand, walking a small dog. John knew Sherlock had gotten a puppy so he expected him to be small, he just didn’t think the dog bouncing on the pavement in front of Sherlock might grow beyond it’s current size. Sherlock must have felt hopeful about the dog’s future size though, given the name John heard him use. 

“Come, Smaug.” Sherlock called to the dog who had gone past their front door. John jogged up to 221B to catch Sherlock before he went inside. The doctor was invited inside and offered tea. John managed to hold the burning question back until after Sherlock had given him his cup and he was fairly certain that the detective hadn’t put anything unnecessary in the drink. 

“So, uh, that’s the dog I’ve been hearing so much about?” John pointed to the animal rolling around on the carpet between the two men’s feet with a little rag ball toy.   
Sherlock sighed, expecting the question. “Yes that’s Smaug.” 

John was almost surprised to see a smile at the corner of Sherlock’s lips. The dog jumped up on Sherlock’s lap at the sound of his name, squeezing itself between Sherlock’s thigh and the side of the armchair. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that breed. What is he?” John feigned interest, trying hard to cover up his outright curiosity.  
Sherlock groaned. “It’s a Teddy Bear Teacup Pomeranian.” He announced with as much seriousness as he could muster. “Molly’s choice, not mine, of course.” 

“I kind of figured.” John laughed. The dog seemed affronted and barked at John. If you could call it a bark. The sound that came out of the dog’s mouth was more of a squeak than an actual bark. 

“That is why his nickname is squeaky toy. I stepped on one of his actual toys last week and thought I trampled him. The worst part is they don’t grow. John he stays this small.” Sherlock practically groaned. Why on Earth had he allowed Molly to be the one to have the final say  

“I’m… I have absolutely no idea what to tell you mate.” John tried to keep his giggles to himself. The rest of the visit was spent talking about cases clogging Sherlock’s inbox. 

When everyone else found out it was much more memorable. John got a call from Lestrade asking him to get Sherlock down to the scene of a crime and get down there as soon as he could because they had a possible witness to a murder and Greg wasn’t sure Sherlock could handle it without making the poor kid cry. When John finally managed to get Sherlock on the phone he was out walking the dog in a park. He was so excited by the case summary that he picked up and ran to the scene, Smaug running as fast as his little legs could carry him to keep up with his owner. Sherlock had to keep stopping to allow the poor tiny creature to catch up, and when that got too much, Sherlock picked Smaug up and stuffed him into one of his coat pockets. 

When he got to the scene of the crime, he ducked under the police cordon and headed straight to the front door of a house, where police were gathered. He picked up a pair of latex gloves and stretched them over his fingers as he sauntered over. 

“Lestrade, where’s the body?” Sherlock asked when he’d found the DI. Sally and Anderson had been giving Lestrade an update when Sherlock interrupted.   
Before Lestrade could answer, a yapping sound came from Sherlock’s pocket. 

“What was that?” Sally interjected.

“What was what?” Sherlock tried to distract her. Another yap and Sherlock froze. 

“That. Did it come from your pocket?” Anderson asked. 

“Why would my pocket be making sounds, Anderson? I told you never to talk out loud. The sound of your voice numbs my brain.” Sherlock fired off before another two yaps were followed by Smaug sticking his head out of the pocket.

“What is that?” Sally guffawed at the small face. 

“Sherlock there you are…” John started when he saw his best friend had arrived. As he approached him he could see the tiny animal sticking out of his jacket. “Did you seriously bring Smaug with you on a case?” He asked disbelievingly. 

“I was out walking him, I didn’t have time to drop him off.” Sherlock explained. Anderson bent down, bringing his face level with the dog’s, who licked Anderson’s nose.

“Anderson step away before you infect my dog.” Sherlock warned. 

“If I’m correct this is a Teacup Pomeranian, possibly of the teddy bear variety, though I can’t be entirely sure of that last part.” Anderson deduced. Sherlock was astounded that Anderson could deduce that correctly. 

“Tolkien fan are we?” Lestrade finally managed to say when he’d stopped laughing long enough to take a breath and form a sentence, clapping Sherlock on his shoulder. While Sherlock was busy brushing Lestrade off Smaug jumped out of Sherlock’s pocket and walked over to a puddle. Everyone turned to look at the dog when they heard him yapping at the water. Sherlock took a closer look and dipped his fingers in the puddle, straightening up to show off the severed finger he’d pulled out of the water. 

“His first crime scene and his record is already better than Anderson’s” Sherlock announced smugly as Sally proffered up an open evidence bag for Sherlock to drop the finger in, which he happily did. 

And that is the story of how Detective Inspector Dimmock won £360 with the bet ‘The most ridiculous excuse you can think of for a dog.’ Of course, after Smaug’s first case, and fearing Sherlock’s wrath, no one ever dared refer to Smaug as a ridiculous excuse. Though he was more commonly known as That Terrifying Thing around New Scotland Yard and St. Bart’s instead, Molly preferred to call him ‘my cuddly-boy’, 'my squeakers', or 'squeakums' which was Sherlock's most hated one.


End file.
